How can two days be so different?
How can Sunday be so meek?
When Monday morning rears it's head,
The beginning of the week?
Sunday is a day for lazing,
For lounging in bed all day,
Or sitting still and people gazing,
Or wandering to the park to play.
Sunday is a day of rest,
One last lie in before work,
It's the day I love and treasure best,
Knowing Monday's presence lurks.
Watching a film on Sunday night,
I become aware of the clock,
The hands seem to move as fast as light,
Monday's closer with each tick and tock.
Lying in bed on a Monday Eve,
I cannot get to sleep.
For the weekend is over, I do believe,
The thought makes me want to weep.
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